Short Hops
by MsCongeniality
Summary: Drabbles and other short fiction featuring the Doctor and his companions. Multiera.
1. Culloden

**Culloden**

He'd fought hard and, in the end, fell himself; though he managed to take one last Redcoat with him. They lay sprawled together, thick dark blood soaking the field. Jamie could no longer tell whose blood was whose and the lighter he got, the less cared.

Instead, there was something else, something that seemed important. It played at the edge of his memory like a flash of silver, or the sound of a flute just beyond his hearing, but he was tired and it seemed so far away. For now he'd just rest; it would come to him, in time.


	2. With a Twist

Rose regarded the reddish drink with a healthy dose of skepticism before looking back at the Doctor. He was standing at the bar now, deep in conversation with a man who, even with his shock of dark hair and walrus mustache, would be wholly unremarkable in this time and place if it weren't for a certain undefined magnetism he seemed to radiate. She could barely hear them over the din in the room, but whatever it was they were discussing seemed important, at least to the two of them.

She continued watching them over her glass as she took a sip. The syrupy concoction was sweet but not cloying, saved from that fate only by the strength of the alcohol in it and a faint aftertaste of orange. She pursed her lips and her gaze almost instinctively dropped to her glass. As she looked up again, the Doctor seemed to have concluded his business. He clapped his companion on the shoulder and turned to walk towards her, a huge grin brightening his face.

Rose couldn't help but smile in return. She waited for him to get within earshot before calling out, "Doctor, I thought you said you'd be taking me for a martini."

The Doctor's grin faded to an impish smirk as he replied. "That what I said, is it?"

"Yeah, it is." Rose punctuated her statement with an almost challenging tilt of her chin. Reaching down, she took up a handful of heavy skirt. "While I enjoy a bit of atmosphere as much as the next girl, this is a little much don't you think? And," she concluded firmly as though proving her point, "this drink is sweet."

The Doctor shook his head and raised his own glass to her. "You need to listen better." He paused to take a drink, then continued in a somewhat deprecating tone.

"That is an original martin_ez_ from Professor Thomas, himself. There's a town a bit north that's going to want to claim credit, but I know the real thing when I get one so the Hotel Occidental it is." He gestured towards her drink, and continued. "Enjoy it while you can, because after a hundred years and a good bout with temperance, all you're going to have is double 07 'shaken not stirred' vodkas and upscale drinks for yuppies that might as well come furnished with little umbrellas instead of olives."

He crossed his free arm across his chest and leaned against the polished wood column next to them. "Anyway, I thought you'd like gold rush California. This isn't my favorite city, but then I've left more than one heart here."

The temptation to ask was there, as always, but rather than pushing only to receive another evasion, Rose just grinned in response. "I donno," she said, lightly. "Bring me back sometime after they've paved the streets and installed indoor plumbing and maybe we'll have something to talk about."

The Doctor scowled in response. "Some fun you are, cutting off whole swathes of human history with that little proviso. Come on, finish your drink then." He grinned, clinking his glass against hers lightly. "We've got an audience with an Emperor."


	3. Sunset

Fitz glanced at the console and readings that blinked helpfully, if incomprehensibly. He'd grown accustomed to not quite knowing his whereabouts. Unpleasant, though he understood the need for it. Looking to the external monitor for clues, he found a scene that defined tranquility; a timeless moment that could belong to almost any era in the Land of the Rising Sun—or else to a postcard off a rack in Narita airport.

Whenever they were, at least it seemed like Earth; and with any luck, the life or death situations would wait until after he'd picked up a pack of smokes.


	4. A Very Merry

"Doctor?"

A tousled head appeared briefly in the bedroom doorway, and ducked back out as quickly. A moment later, apparently reassured that conditions were favorable, the doctor stepped into the main room of the small flat.

"Present and accounted for," he replied breezily. Long strides brought him to the other side of the small dining table where he began to look through the Tesco parcels with curiosity.

"Doctor," Martha continued firmly, holding his gaze as he looked up from the afternoon's shopping. "I know that time is mutable, wibbley wobbley and all that. But what if you're trying to commemorate a, you know, a fixed date."

"What, you mean like celebrating a different Christmas each night for a week?"

Martha shook her head. "Not exactly, more like if you've celebrated a birthday and the date comes 'round again six months later, then is it really your birthday?" She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. "Or if it's the day of your birthday, but you won't be born for another fifteen years, is it really your birthday at all?"

"Ahh." The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets awkwardly. "Well, mostly I sort of reckon those things by the Tardis' internal chronology, much more reliable than any old calendar, but seeing as we're sort of flying by the seat of our pants for the moment, old Gregory's all we've got. Not that I think Aloysius would be thrilled by that, but I think Gregorian rolls a bit easier off the tongue than Aloysian and Lilian's just a bit girly for a calendar, don't you think? Anyway, he'll have long gotten over it."

With this he paused, gazing thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "No," he continued. "In instances like these, I'm going to say definitely stick with the calendar. We can work the rest out once we've got hold of this girl and the Tardis is sent back to us."

"So...it's my birthday, then?"

The Doctor looked back at Martha. "No, I'm afraid not. Not born yet and all that." He leaned forward, "In fact, I'd say it's most decidedly an occasion for an unbirthday."

She raised an eyebrow "As in 'A very merry unbirthday to me?'"

"Well, that wasn't precisely how I put it to Charles but...yeah. In fact, let's all congratulate us with another cup of tea, and a very merry unbirthday to you Martha Jones!"


End file.
